Revelations in Blue
by DarkfirePrince
Summary: Hank is saved by someone he thought he knew, only to find he didn't really know him at all. I hate when other people say this, but I'm bad at summaries. Was going to be a series, but that is now doubtful. One-Shot. Hank/OC.


**Revelations in Blue:**

_**Discovery!**__**Stories of the Flesh**_

After what seemed like days of just floating, Hank opened his eyes and found himself staring into familiar florescent lights. _Medical bay_, popped into his head as he began to take stock of his surroundings. He couldn't see anyone in the room at the moment, but could tell that Jean was close at hand by the lingering perfume in the air. There was another scent present; vaguely familiar but not someone he could place. Almost absently, Hank grabbed the chart hanging on his bed with his feet and perused it quickly. _Hmm, only a concussion, nothing too serious. Another hour or two and I'll be good as new._ Taking a moment to recollect what had happened, Hank realized the last thing he remembered was being slammed to the ground by a Sentinel. According to the clock on the far wall he couldn't have been unconscious for much more than an hour. He got out of bed and removed the wires attaching him to various monitors. _I think it's time to find out exactly what happened, and who I need to thank,_ he thought idly.

Making his way across the medical bay Hank stopped as the strange scent hit his nostrils again. Sniffing the air, he looked around and noticed that there was someone lying in a bed, hid by a partially drawn curtain. _Probably one of the Morlocks,_ he thought. Padding over quietly, he pulled the curtain aside to put a face to the scent. For a moment, his mind refused to comprehend what his eyes were showing him. In the bed was someone he had come to know very well over the past few months. _But that's not his scent…._ he thought in confusion. Skin drained of almost all color only emphasized the blue veins hidden underneath. Hank snatched up his chart and quickly saw that there were no serious physical injuries, only a few bruises. But still, that worried him. For months Jaime had kept multiple layers of shielding in place for 18+ hours a day to contain the laboratory and protect them both from infection_. What could have broken through his shields?_ Hank kept reading down the chart until he came to the main diagnosis.

::Patient is exhibiting all classic symptoms of EPMB. Overexertion is linked to event seen in surveillance capture SVC-26699852180::

_Energy Projection/Manipulation Burn… is that why he smells so different? No, that wouldn't affect the way he smells. What the HELL happened today?_ Taking note of the video ID number, he made his way to the lab where he pulled up the file and started the soundless playback. On screen Hank saw himself being smacked out of a back-flip by a giant robotic hand. He slammed into the pavement and cracked his head on a pile of fallen concrete. _A mistake fit for a rookie._ Absently he rubbed the bump on his head which had already begun to go down. Into view came three Sentinels, including one that seemed more advanced than any they had previously encountered. "Great, just what we need, a new model" he muttered to himself. Then, the Sentinel to the camera's far right shot an energy blast directly at his prone body.

But it never connected. The blast revealed that Hank was being protected by an energy shield. Jaime ran into view, not stopping until he was standing protectively over Hank. All of the Sentinels began firing then, doing their best to break through to their targets. For several minutes it seemed to be a stand-off, but slowly Jaime began to visibly weaken. He kept waiting for someone to come in from off screen and rescue them, like in a movie. It was hard for Hank to watch Jaime protect him, knowing that he had no way to retaliate; his powers were purely defensive. About to skip forward, Hank froze, his mouth slowly dropping open. Jaime had thrown his head back and burned with energy. Small force spheres appeared at points around each of the Sentinels. Without warning, the spheres became spikes and began to move like pistons, punching holes in the mechanical hunters until there was nothing but scrap. By this time, Jaime was on his hands and knees, keeping them safe under a flickering dome. The street became half buried under broken pieces of machine and shrapnel. Hank watched in disbelief until Jaime finally passed out and released them both to their teammates care.

Hank stared at the screen and tried to sort through the whirlpool of thoughts racing through his mind. _I thought we were friends; why else would he go that far to save me? But his scent, it changed! What has he been hiding from me?_ Guilt, betrayal, concern, and several emotions Hank didn't have names for welled up inside him. _I just need to stop thinking right now; this is going to drive me crazy. _He ran his fingers through his hair, and felt matted clumps on the back of his head_. Must be from earlier…_ he thought dully. _A shower then; a long, hot shower…._

Empty was all that Jaime could feel as the world slowly returned; a hollowness inside like something had been scooped out. His eyes slowly opened and Jaime found himself gazing at a relieved looking Jean.

"Welcome back," began Jean. "You were close to being in a coma after your first mission." While she was talking, Jean methodically checked his reactions and vitals.

"What happened?" asked Jaime, as he worked past his exhaustion to push himself into more of an upright position; even though in reality he only scooted a few inches up the incline of the bed. Jean looked back at him for a long moment before replying with her own question.

"Well, what's the last thing you remember?" Extending her mind gently, she projected calm and trust towards her patient. At her core, Jean had to admit that she was quite curious about the stocky brunette. The few times that she had tried to read anything from him, she found that his powers were always active. Even when he was asleep, he was shielded. But that was before. Now his gifts weren't manifesting at all.

Jaime took a deep breath and thought back. Behind his eyelids he saw pieces, disconnected pictures. Morlocks fleeing from the sewers; Sentinels attacking from the sky; the heart of an exploding rocket as it impacts his protective field; a different model Sentinel looming above him; Hank lying on a pile of concrete debris bleeding from the back of his head, not moving. That last image broke Jaime from Jean's influence and a sickening fear took root in his stomach. "Hank!" he exclaimed, as he sat up straight and grabbed onto Jean's forearm.

Jean placed her free hand on top of the one grasping her arm. "He's fine Jaime," she said forcefully. "He has a concussion and a few bruises. That's all. Honestly he's in better condition than you at this point." As she said this, a wave of relief passed through her. Only then did Jean realize exactly how strongly he was projecting at her. She slipped out of his grasp and took a seat on a nearby stool, readying herself to break the bad news. "Which brings me to you."

Still radiating relief, Jaime looked at her with half-lidded eyes. "What about me?"

"When you were protecting Hank from the Sentinels, you overexerted yourself," she explained. A brief vision flashed in her mind of finding Jaime on all fours next to Hank's unconscious body. The last vestiges of his shielding was extended over them both, unstable but enough to keep any of the other X-men from approaching. It took long minutes for him to finally collapse, completely exhausted. Shaking her head to clear it, Jean continued. "As a result, you're body was subjected to incredible amounts of stress, and until it can recover, you won't be able to use your powers." Jean watched as the first touch of fear crept into Jaime's eyes.

By the time Hank got showered, dried, and brushed it was 1:30 in the morning. His mind had quieted somewhat as he concentrated on the task of getting clean before bed. It wasn't until he flicked the light switch that his stomach reminded him how long it had been since he had eaten. Debating for a moment Hank grabbed the door handle and made his way down to the kitchen. In only half the time it took to make a sandwich, he was done eating it. Stomach satisfied, Hank started back towards the main staircase when he noticed a light coming from one of the common rooms down the hall. "Lazy damn kids" he mumbled as he went to shut off the light.

When Hank stalked into the room, he was shocked by the noise of a heavy chair scraping along the floor. In the corner of the room, Jaime sat under a lamp breathing shakily, his sketchbook dropped at his feet. It took him a second to calm down and recognize who had just walked in.

"Sorry, Hank" he said. "I didn't hear you coming down the hall." He bent down, picked up his sketchbook, and closed the cover. Looking away from Hank's face, he added "and I'm a little jumpy at the moment." After getting over his initial surprise, Hank took a few steps towards Jaime, and was able to get both a good look and a good smell. Dark purple smudges on skin still too pale, emphasizing eyes that were somehow both dull and too shiny at the same time. Fear and anxiety tickled his nostrils, along with the bitter ammonia of exhaustion.

Hank maneuvered himself so he could sit on the back of the couch facing Jaime and said in a soft, even tone "Hey, why aren't you in bed right now? You need to be resting."

Jaime continued to look down at the floor. "I can't sleep," came the mumbled reply. Absently, he started to rock slightly; back and forth. Without even thinking about it, Hank found himself crossing the short distance between them. It wasn't until he placed his hands on Jaime's shoulders that he hesitated, unsure what to do. He knelt down as Jaime raised his head.

He rubbed his big hands along Jaime's arms, and asked "Why can't you sleep?"

Barely a whisper, "I'm scared…."

For a long moment Hank debated on asking why he was scared, but decided it didn't matter. Without a word he scooped Jaime up in his arms and shut off the light. Considering Jaime's face in the moonlight he could see the confusion, the question in his eyes, the need. Hank held him a little tighter to his chest and whispered "It's okay. I'll keep you safe." As he began their walk to his bedroom, he felt Jaime wrap an arm around his neck, face pressed to his soft, furry chest.

It wasn't long before they reached Hank's room. He had to use his trademark dexterity to open the door with one foot so he wouldn't disturb his passenger. After he heard the door close, Jaime let his grip on Hank's neck loosen a little. He felt himself being lowered down to sit on the edge of the bed, and stared at Hank for a long moment. Hank was dressed only in a pair of boxers, as he had been ready for bed. Jaime stood up and pushed his sweatpants down to the floor; shirt slowly following. Now wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, he looked at Hank. Slowly Hank approached him, and pulled him into the circle of his arms.

Tentative hands pushed through the soft fur along his waist and the small of his back. He gasped at the contact, then settled as he felt Jaime clinging to him as if he were the last solid thing on Earth. Getting them both into the bed required some maneuvering, but in the end Hank got them there. He curled around Jaime, and wrapped the light blanket around them both. Jaime's body slowly relaxed under the pressure and heat of Hank's; it wasn't long before he began snoring gently.

Hank watched as he fell to sleep, a little less concerned now that the fear and tension left Jaime's face. Until the marks of the past few hours had been smoothed away by slumber, Hank hadn't realized how truly terrified Jaime was. _Then again, he shouldn't have been able to remain awake at all, so it must have been pretty bad._ Hank closed his eyes and let his own exhaustion wash over him. Absently nuzzling the back of Jaime's neck, Hank had one last thought _Like rain and wood smoke…_

Hank returned to the world some time later, enjoying waking up without an alarm for a change. A diffuse light crept into the room around the edges of the heavy curtains, keeping it in a soothing twilight. Soft snoring drew his attention to the warm body in his bed. Jaime was spooned tightly against him, head resting on his arm. A gentle look passed over his face before he turned his head to look at the clock on the nightstand. Squinting, he saw that it was already the afternoon_. 12:42….I must have been more exhausted than I realized,_ he thought. _Haven't done that since I was a teenager._

Hank slid his arm out from under Jaime and rolled over onto his back. Extending his body, a low rumble of pleasure began somewhere deep in his chest. ::SMACK!:: The rumble turned into a surprised cough when an arm slapped down across his stomach. Glaring down, he saw that Jaime had followed him. With his stretch ruined, he began to slide off the bed when two things stopped him. A growl came from Jaime's throat, and his hand tightened in Hank's fur.

Hank just stared at the ceiling as he pondered the situation. _I guess the meaning there is clear,_ he thought with a mix of amusement and annoyance. Looking down at Jaime clamped on to him, amusement won out. Hank's gaze slid down his back, taking in the litany of thin white scars that covered most of his body. He remembered administering Jaime's intake exam and medical scans. It was the only other time that Jaime avoided meeting his gaze; was anything but confident. Another thought then occurred to him. _It's also the only other time I know for a fact he wasn't actively shielding…._ A heavy sigh left his mouth as he tried to keep his mind from going to a decidedly bad place. Rubbing Jaime's back, Hank began to softly urge him awake. The process took a few minutes, but eventually he was coaxed into consciousness. Pushing himself up into a sitting position he just looked at Hank and grunted.

"Oh come on now, even Logan can do better," said Hank with a wry grin. He was hoping that Jaime would rise to the taunt; and if the grin was a bit forced, _He's probably far too tired to notice._ After a long moment, Jaime responded by blowing a raspberry and giving him the two fingered salute.

"Good to know that your debating skills have returned in full force,' Hank teased, still rubbing circles on Jaime's back. Standing up, he let his hand slide along Jaime's arm, until they were holding hands. With a small tug, Hank continued "I know that you're pretty out of it right now, but I promise that you will feel better after a shower and something to eat." Jaime let himself be pulled off of the bed, and promptly found himself being herded into the attached bathroom. Hank handed him a towel, and opened the shower stall door. "While you're getting a shower, I'll head down to the kitchen, and get some food together. You can meet me there when you're done, okay?" Hank was hoping that Jaime would acquiesce; that he was more stable than early this morning. For a few breathless seconds, there was silence.

"You cooking? Here comes the apocalypse," said Jaime, adding to himself _better call Warren._ Hank smirked and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He took a moment to change into a pair of khakis and a white tank-top before heading out of the room. Pausing in the hallway, Hank padded down to Jaime's room, and secured a fresh change of clothes. He dropped them off and hurried down to the kitchen, his own stomach reminding him that he should be cooking already.

Jaime stepped into the hot spray of water, trying to lose himself in the beat playing across his skin. He really hadn't wanted Hank to go, but couldn't ask him to stay. _Yeah, I can see how well that would have turned out,_ he thought derisively. _Oh Hank, please keep me company in the shower._ A shake of his head, _It's fucking pathetic._ Yet for all the scorn Jaime aimed at himself, it didn't stop him from hurrying to get washed up. He really didn't want to be alone right now. Even with food _(urp!)_ waiting for him. _Oh God, if me makes me eat, I'm gonna puke._

Hank bustled around the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the breakfast he just made. He had to admit, he was rather proud of himself. _Not that I'm a great cook,_ he thought. _But the one thing I can make is a damn good breakfast if I do say so myself._ He eyed the two very full plates on the table. _I hope Jaime gets down here soon. He's not the only one who needs to eat!_ Hank had spent most of his time after leaving Jaime in mental contact with Jean. He had briefly debated on how much to tell her, and decided on a slightly edited version of events. As far as Hank was concerned, some things were just nobody's business. In hindsight, he believed Jaime had been suffering from an attack of paranoia that a small percentage of mutants can experience during EPMB. He also made it a point to tell that to Jean as a subtle reminder not to pry. He knew that Jaime was a very private person, and would not appreciate any peeking into his head; helpful intentions or not. Although, as it turned out, Jean had some information to pass along as well. Apparently Jaime wasn't able to recall much of what had happened yesterday; only a few disconnected flashes. Jean had also forwarded copies of the mission reports and the surveillance video to Charles on Muir Island. Per his instructions, Jaime was not to be told what happened or shown the video. He felt it would be better to allow him to remember on his own. Hank wasn't quite sure that he agreed, but he would defer to the Professor's judgment on this. As he finished cleaning the mess he made while cooking, Jaime shuffled into the kitchen. In his oversized fuzzy lounge pants and well worn blue hoodie he looked like a kid wearing daddy's clothes.

"So, did you have a nice shower?" Hank asked, deliberately keeping his tone light. Now that he was more awake, Jaime could see the tension around Hank's eyes, the slightly too intense look. He knew Hank was worried about him, and felt a bit guilty. So he did as he always had; put on a brave face and said something amusing.

"Yeah, all clean and with the better smell now," said Jaime. Looking over at the table, he began to feel decidedly sick. "Wow, that's a lot of food…" The plates on the table were piled with generous portions of eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast. There was even a pitcher of orange juice. _He's trying to kill me; death by vomiting._ Jaime approached the table, and took the seat facing the room's two entrances. Hank followed him over to the table, taking note of his choice of seating. Sitting down across from him, Hank wondered if it was even a conscious decision.

"Dig in!' Hank said cheerfully, applying himself to his own plate with gusto. Being as hungry as he was, it took him a moment to notice that Jaime wasn't touching his food. In fact, he looked rather green around the edges. Putting down his utensils, Hank cocked his head slightly to one side and just looked at the man sitting across from him.

Seeing he was caught, Jaime opened his mouth to explain. "Hank believe me, I really appreciate you cooking for me I do, but if you make me eat I'm gonna be sick." He gazed pleadingly into dark blue eyes, not above using pity if it meant he didn't have to eat.

Reaching across the table, Hank picked up a piece of toast from the plate and held it in front of Jaime's face. "Just one piece of toast then; it's not even buttered," he said, something in his voice made it clear that he wasn't taking no for an answer. After Jaime took the toast and began to nibble on a corner, he added "If you could also manage some orange juice, I'd be much obliged." Ignoring the glare that came his way, Hank began to eat again, but much slower. He ran on with the conversation, talking about anything he could readily think of that might possibly be of any interest. As he kept the near monologue going, he hid a smile when he saw Jaime reach for a piece of bacon.

Nearly an hour of non-stop talking later, Hank was happy to see there were two empty plates on the table and the pitcher nearly empty. Jaime sat across from him, eyes half closed, looking like a contented cat. As Hank got up to clear the table, he couldn't resist a little compliment fishing. "So, I take it the food wasn't that sickening?"

Jaime lazily looked up at the furry blue face and replied, "Om-nom-nom." This brought a chuckle from Hank, who continued to wash up after the two of them.

Most of the worry had ebbed from him over the course of the meal; Jaime looked better after his blood sugar levels had gone up. Towards the end he had even been making small jokes_. Now I just have to get him back off to bed._ Hank knew that the other X-men had been stretched a bit thin covering for the both of them. _Classes are close to done for the day, but I'm sure that there is still plenty of work to go around._

Walking back to the table, Hank knelt down next to Jaime. "Alright, it's time you went back to bed," said Hank, keeping his voice both cheerful and gentle at the same time. "Do you think you can get there on your own, or do you want me to walk you up?" Jaime's eyes sprang fully open, and he just looked at Hank for a few seconds. Somewhere in the workings of Hank's brain, the abrupt change of mood was noted and filed.

"I can get there myself; and Hank,' Jamie replied, a half smile on his lips. "Thank you for, you know, cooking and… everything." Jaime stood up from his chair, and headed towards the main hall. But before he could leave the room, Hank turned and caught him by the wrist.

He fixed Jaime with a skeptical stare. After spending so much time together, Hank knew that Jaime had the inclination to be oddly stubborn and a little childish when it suited him. And while he had never lied to Hank, he tended to choose the most inopportune times to become annoyingly literal.

"I know that look in your eyes Jaime," said Hank, releasing his wrist. The large blue hand began rubbing his arm and shoulder. "When you get to your room, you need to go to sleep, okay? Promise me." The first inkling that something more serious was going on formed in the back of his mind as the silence stretched out. But Hank wasn't ready to jump to any conclusions just yet. _It hasn't even been a full twelve hours since the last time I got him to sleep. He's probably still spooked; not quite past the paranoia._

"Or we could go back up to my room," Hank said gently, as he pulled Jaime into a hug; which was oddly one sided. _What's this now?_ Looking down at the still figure in his arms, Hank pulled back a little. "Hey, don't be like that," he chided. "I said I'd keep you safe, and I will; for as long as you need me to." He pulled Jaime back into a hug, and this time felt hands burrowing into his fur. "I promise."

Over the course of the following three days Hank only grew more worried, and more confused. If one stepped back, Jaime seemed to be recovering surprisingly well. He no longer looked ill, and while he still tired easily, he was able to stay up for several hours at a time. He had even taken to spending time in the common rooms, drawing and chatting with the students. If he kept improving at this rate, his powers would fully return in about another week. Yet Hank saw things that no one else was looking for, the cracks around the edges. Then of course there was the biggest one of all; Jaime still refused to sleep unless Hank was with him. Not coincidentally, that's also where the confusion began.

If he was going to be honest with himself, Hank had to admit that he had always been a very tactile person. He had enjoyed horsing around with his friends, wrestling with Bobby, watching TV at the bottom of a big puppy pile. Yet, since his body had changed, he found it difficult to be truly close to anyone. Even the scant few relationships he had seemed to lack intimacy; and while there was sex, there was also a distance. But things were different with Jaime. They had never been lovers; yet Hank felt more himself, more seen when they were together. Hank couldn't remember the last time someone reached out for him, touched him, held him close without any hesitation; or invitation for that matter. He liked being needed, wanted. There was also a more primal part of him that was pleased to have another scent mingling with his; throughout his room, on his sheets, in his fur.

_But,_ Hank thought guiltily, _I can't just keep hoping that Jaime will suddenly get better. I need to talk with Charles._ He had locked himself in the lab after making sure Jaime was awake enough to realize he was going to leave the room. Hank laughed to himself as he remembered the grumpy stare he got on his way out the door. _He really is one grouchy cuss first thing in the morning,_ he thought, an affectionate smile playing on his lips. Hank readied himself for the video chat with the Professor, trying to push his private thoughts below the business at hand_. This is precisely the reason I decided against a mental conference from the comfort of my room,_ thought Hank. _I don't think I want Charles knowing how endearing I find it when he growls in his sleep._ He turned on the monitor and saw the Professor's face, patiently waiting for him.

The two exchanged pleasantries for several minutes, discussing nothing of any importance. Hank was trying to think of a way to broach the subject, when Charles did it for him.

"Well Hank, while I'm sure we could both sit here chatting all day, I believe you require my assistance with something."

_Here goes,_ thought Hank as he began to review Jaime's case with Charles.

_Just once,_ thought Hank _I wish that someone would give me an easy answer; just once!_ He had sought out help from Charles in order to gain some insight into Jaime's mental state. Before he'd been allowed to step one foot on school grounds, Jaime had submitted to a full mental probe. Surely Charles should have some knowledge of the fear that now gripped him. _And to be fair, he does. He's just not sharing._ Hank plunked down on a stool and combed his fingers through his hair. _I really can't argue that I should be asking Jaime and not the Professor. There's just never an easy way to ask for the details of someone's worst fears._ Hank realized with a start that he wasn't looking forward to this conversation; not at all. _But if I'm going to help him, I need to know._ Glancing at the clock, he pushed himself up from his seat; it was naptime. _Well, at least I'll have a few hours to figure this out._

Hank made his way up to collect Jaime, methodically checking each of the rooms he was likely to be in. Since class was in session things were made a lot easier, in more ways than one. The students were more observant than their teachers generally gave them credit for. Hank would have to have been deaf and blind not to notice the whispered conversations ending abruptly when he approached or the knowing looks and smug smiles. It was just one more thing he had no interest in dealing with.

It wasn't long before he found Jaime, sitting in his favorite overstuffed chair. Hank watched him from the hall for a moment, seemingly lost in his drawing. _A little stronger every day,_ he thought, seeing fewer signs of exhaustion in his face; in his body. He knocked on the archway to announce his presence and walked into the room. Jaime jerked a bit in his seat at the unexpected noise, but nothing like the first night he was found here. Hank smiled, feigning nonchalance as he approached. "Are you ready to come upstairs?"

Jaime gathered his things and said "So much for romance," an exaggerated sigh escaping from his lips. With a laugh he rose to join Hank, and they fell into an easy step.

"Well, you know what they say,' Hank responded. "Why buy the cow…." Jaime reached over and gave his nipple a rough twist. "Ahhh! Bad touch!"

"That's what you get for calling me a cow," Jaime replied smugly as he started up the stairs. As they continued towards the teacher's wing, Hank became increasingly more anxious the closer they got to his bedroom; several times he had caught Jaime staring at him. He spent most of the walk concentrating on not allowing it to show in his body language. Jaime opened the door when they arrived, and motioned for Hank to enter first. He shut the door behind himself and put his drawing supplies on the desk, then turned to watch as Hank took off his tank top. Hank had begun to unbutton his pants when he felt an intense gaze boring into his back.

"Something wrong?" he asked as he slowly turned to face Jaime.

"You tell me," Jaime replied. "After all, you're the one trying so hard to act nonchalant." He leaned back on the desk and waited, noting the uneasiness that crept into Hank's eyes.

"Well, aside from a bruised nipple, I'm doing just fine," said Hank, purposely misunderstanding the question. He heaved an internal sigh of relief when Jaime just smiled wickedly and slipped out of his shirt. He turned back around and worked his pants down to the floor. Just when he stepped out from them he felt a weight land on his back; arms and legs latching on to him. "Hey!" Hank exclaimed as he reached to steady himself on the nightstand. Hands burrowed into the fur on his torso until they met skin. For a long second Jaime's hands were still, fingers lying across his ribs.

"Dance puppet, dance," whispered Jaime as he dug his fingers in. Hank jerked upright, a shocked yelp forced out his throat. He heard Jaime laugh as his body jerked from the merciless tickling he was receiving. The laughter only increased as Hank tried to pry him off between spasms. With a quick twist of his body, he was finally able to loosen Jaime's grip enough to toss him onto the bed. A gasp of surprise escaped from his lips when a large body pinned him down, his wrists held above his head in one of Hank's hands.

Hank's lips stretched into a mischievous smile as he looked down at the man beneath him. "That wasn't very nice," he said, the hint of a growl in his voice. Jaime looked back up at him; challenge glinting in his eyes. Hank slid his free hand over Jaime's hairless chest, feeling the thin lines of scar tissue; a story carved into flesh. "And if I remember correctly, the same people who talk about cows also say that turnabout is fair play." Jaime's body bucked underneath him as his fingers dug into every ticklish spot he could reach. Hank drew out his revenge, relishing the small helpless sounds that came from beneath him. He finally relented once Jaime stopped struggling; his head lay back, throat bared.

Hank leaned his face in close to Jaime's. "Truce," he offered. Jaime nodded his head, too out of breath to speak. Hank flopped to the side and rubbed Jaime's chest; a peace offering. They laid there for several minutes; Jaime's heavy breathing the only sound. "So," Hank said when Jaime's breathing became less ragged. "What was that all about?"

Jaime turned his head to the side and lazily looked at Hank. "Well, the plan was to tickle you into submission and make you tell me what's on your mind." He then gave a weak chuckle, "It kinda backfired on me though." He poked Hank in the stomach. "C'mon, out with it." Blue eyes stared back at him; reticence clear for him to see.

Hank opened his mouth to speak several times, but nothing came out. Shaking his head, he sighed and looked back at Jaime. A nervous flutter took hold in his stomach; Hank wasn't going to lie, no matter how much he wanted to in that moment. _Damn, damn, damn! Why couldn't he have just waited until after I had some time to think about how to do this? _he thought, groaning inwardly. _I don't see this ending well'_ "There's something that I need to ask you, but I don't know how you're going to take it."

Jaime propped himself up on his elbows, and Hank's hand slid down to his stomach. "Just ask," he began. "I promise not to get shitty about it." Hank's breath unconsciously sped up and tension began to visibly collect across his shoulders. Jaime reached over, pushed his fingers through the fur on Hank's neck, and massaged the knotted muscles.

Hank took a deep breath and let the words tumble out. "Why are you afraid to go to sleep?" The hand on his neck became still, and then pulled away as Jaime's gaze lowered to the blue hand spanning his stomach. For a long moment he just sat there, looking down. Hank pulled his hand back, and began to mumble an apology when he felt it being pulled back towards Jaime's body.

"You've probably guessed already," he began, "but it has to do with how I got these." He lay back down and closed his eyes, one hand gripped firmly on Hank's. "When I was nineteen, there was a string of murders just outside Philadelphia. They were all mutants." Jaime's tone became indifferent as he spoke; like it had all happened to someone else. "Billie, Kasey, and I thought it was Friends of Humanity or even Humans First, but it wasn't."

"One night I went to sleep, in my room, same as always. The next thing I know I'm waking up tied to a bench. There were men standing all around me. None of them said a word. They just looked at me, with these crazy smiles. I tried to use my powers, but they must have done something to me because I couldn't." Jaime let out a shaky breath, a shiver running involuntarily through his body. Hank pulled him in closer, to remind Jaime that he was safe now. He swallowed audibly, then continued. "That's when He came in, dragging a girl behind him."

"He who?" Hank asked without thinking. As soon as the words left his mouth, he mentally kicked himself. _This is not the time to be asking questions you idiot!_ he thought derisively.

"I don't know really," he responded, "but He was the only one that spoke. He called me the Vessel of Azazeal. Then He said a bunch of stuff in a language I couldn't understand. The other men in the room held the girl above me; and that's when He slit her throat. Her blood poured all over me, and I felt IT. Something got inside me, infected me." Jaime hugged Hank's arm to his chest; tried to gain some distance from his memories. "I guess I blacked out, because it was suddenly two days later and I was sitting in Ed Psych. I thought I was having some kind of episode; until I used my powers."

"Whenever I made any kind of shield, part of the energy reflected back and cut into me. Every time I was alone, they attacked me, forced me to use my powers. And when that stopped working, they went after the people around me; didn't even take a full month for me to get all these." A hint of bitterness had crept into his voice; the only sign that he still berated himself for the decisions in his past. "The last straw was when they set my neighbor's house on fire. Their little girl, Julie, was trapped upstairs, or so I thought." Jaime's lips curled into a derisive sneer, meant only for himself. "The house was burning so fast. I knew that the fire trucks wouldn't get there in time, so I went in after her. I searched the whole house, following her screams. By the time I realized that there was no fire, that I was being screwed with, it was too late. My head, neck, hands, and feet were covered in cuts; I could feel IT clawing inside me."

Hank was surprised to feel the tension slowly leaving Jaime's body. "I thought I was gonna die, but everything just stopped. That was when I met Stephen." He looked up at Hank, seeing the question in his eyes. "He's also known as Doctor Strange. He took me in; healed my new cuts so they wouldn't scar. He taught me how to shield myself when I'm asleep, keep the cultists from finding me again. I owe him a lot. He's the reason that Billie, Kasey, and I started hunting demons. He's the one that gave me the name Excelion."

Jaime exhaled shakily and looked up at Hank's face. "I've never told anyone else about that," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Hank squeezed Jaime a little tighter and resumed rubbing his chest and stomach. "Never," Hank said, half statement, half question.

"No. Kasey and Billie lived through it with me; Stephen knew more about it than I did." Jaime paused for a moment, a slight frown forming on his face. "There's also Charles, but he doesn't count because he was inside my brain." This earned an appreciative chuckle from Hank, having had his own issues with the Professor in the past.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Hank whispered into his ear. "But I'm glad that you told me."

"Well, you have been my surrogate teddy bear for the last few days, so I kind of owed you an explanation." Jaime's words were punctuated by a loud yawn, his body ready for rest. "Besides, you're the only person who's seen my scars and never asked about them."

"Time to sleep now," whispered Hank, and he shifted slightly to cradle Jaime against him. Jaime didn't offer any protest, and was soon snoring softly. For a long time Hank just lay there and thought; Jaime's last words echoing in his ears.

_That's why he wasn't afraid of me; why he never asked about the way I looked. He knows how much it hurts; when no matter how close you are with someone, the only thing they see is what you hate most about yourself._ A sliver of guilt came from the pit of his stomach as he remembered thinking Jaime had used his powers to hide his true reactions the whole time. _He wasn't hiding from __**me**__, he was just hiding. For someone who is supposed to be such a genius, I sure can be a damn fool._

Life for everyone at the school had returned to normal over the past two weeks; or as normal as it could be at any rate. Hank had nursed Jaime back to health, and they were both back teaching their classes. There hadn't even been any emergencies, so the entire campus was relaxed in a way rarely seen. This was how Bobby found his former home, and he was grateful for the chance to visit when the world wasn't about to end.

Yet, Bobby found himself riding the edge of annoyance as he wandered the halls of Xavier's looking for his best friend. Ever since the beginning, when there were only five of them, he and Hank had been best friends. They told each other everything; or so Bobby had always believed. They had shared the most embarrassing and painful experiences of their lives. So why did he have to hear about Hank's new relationship from Jean?

_Okay, so maybe the whole dating a guy thing has its own share of shock value, but damn it, I'm not just anyone,_ he thought._ Hank should know that I wouldn't care, as long as he's happy._ For a dark moment, Bobby wondered if Hank had always hidden this part of himself, hadn't trusted him enough to tell. He shook that thought out of his head, knowing he was being more than a bit stupid. Bobby knew he would get the whole story, just as soon as he could talk to him. _Of course, I need to find him first._ Having barely finished his thought, he found himself caught in a hug from behind, being lifted off the ground.

"Gotcha, " came a familiar voice from just behind his head, an edge of laughter mixed with the deep rumble that vibrated his spine.

"Hank, put me down! You're squashing your present," he exclaimed, a giggle bubbling out of his throat. The arms around him slowly loosened as he was set gently back on his feet. He turned around to face his oldest friend, happy to see the big grin that had appeared less and less frequently as the years had passed. The two of them just looked at each other for a long moment before bursting into laughter.

"My apologies Bobby," Hank began. "I'm just happy to see you. It's been far too long since your last visit." The two fell into an easy step as they started towards the main hall.

"Don't worry about it Hank, I think they'll survive," he replied, and handed over his duffel bag. Hank opened the zipper and peered inside, his smile getting even bigger.

"Oh you do know me well," he said, as he took in the most beautiful sight he had seen in a long time; two slightly dented boxes of Twinkies.


End file.
